


Natural Progression

by thisworriedtown



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Implied Slash, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 06:40:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1459678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisworriedtown/pseuds/thisworriedtown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Remember that this story is about you and how you perceived the events that went down."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Natural Progression

_You got to naturalise it … be as naturalistic as hell …_

It’s hard to be natural when you’re anything but. Freddy Newandyke isn’t the kind of guy to hog a spotlight. Freddy’s the kind of guy that lingers in the background watching carefully those who do. Mr Orange was the one who could stand in front of three hardened criminals and bullshit his way into acceptance by pretending he had the potential, and the balls, to be one too. Freddy just wanted to get the fuck outta there and go back to his comics and cereal, read about fictional brave fuckers that do this kind of shit. Freddy’s used to being shot at by the bad guys, maybe that’s why it was a million times more frightening to befriend them. Freddy is used to bad guys acting like bad guys, not doing things ordinary, good guys do like drink in decent bars and talk about baseball.

I stand in front of three pairs of eyes – no, Mr Orange does. I recite this bullshit story Holdaway’s been chewing my ass about. The one I could probably tell in my sleep. I feel like I’m gonna lose it any second, like Freddy’s going to take over and bolt out that door or whip out his gun and tell the motherfuckers to put their hands up. Not because it would do any good but just because it’s what I’m better at doing. I'm better at arresting people than I am socialising with them.

I try and pretend that my raw nerves are just excitement or anticipation because this guy, Orange, he wants in. Bad. This is his big break. So I keep going. The guys laugh a bit and it eases up a little, cause crooks or cops, everyone likes for other people to like them. For Orange this is new cause he’s getting some big time criminals to listen to him and to consider him. For Freddy this is new cause he’s never been the guy with the amusing anecdote. He’s much more the one-liner kind of guy that chips in every now and then if you’re lucky.

The three of them listen, and I know it’s attentively. They’re scrutinising worse than Holdaway does. They sit as a unit on one side of the table, a unit of crooks, and I stand as the performing crook who’s really a cop on the other. Except somewhere in my telling of the story I realise - not that I know how because in my head there was only Holdaway telling me to naturalise it and a looping image of me getting shot through the fucking head - that they aren’t so much of a unit. Eddie and Joe, sure - but the guy, White, although obviously well in with the father and son duo, he seems different.

Maybe cause there’s warmth in his laughter or a genuine look in his eyes and somewhere, maybe it was in that moment, or all the other moments after it, I began to genuinely want to impress this guy. So I appeal to him a bit more, cause it seems like a good bet. In return his laughter only seems warmer, or his smile kinder. In a fucked up way, it was like he knew all along, that he was in on this shit, and he was looking at me trying to be Orange. Like he knew Freddy all along, like it was our own little fucked up joke.

I get to the end, they laugh and suddenly I seem to be in. I’m getting offered a seat and another drink. I’m allowed to listen to their anecdotes that I don’t doubt for a minute are true. For the first while, I’m torn between relief and shit-inducing panic that I am actually in this thing now – game on, Newandyke, game fucking on. But there’s excitement too cause I can’t quite believe I’m pulling this off. That I’m sitting in a bar with a bunch of no good criminals. I’m accepted. I’ve fooled them all. Orange, the no-good punk, has got his chance. I’ve got mine. This is grade A fucking material and I'm acing it.

My impressions of White turn out to be pretty damn accurate – he is warm and genuine. He’s almost like the host at some party that makes you feel welcome even if you don’t belong there. Like you came with your gal even though they’re all her friends and she’s fucked off somewhere and left you alone. White’s the guy that keeps you company without making it obvious that you’re a total loser.

He keeps patting me on the shoulder, or offering me refills, calling me kid like he’s known me for years. He winds up Joe and then looks at me, winks or smirks, and includes me in jokes and banter that go way back to before I was even born. He talks random shit that you would talk with a good buddy. And even though I’m purposefully avoiding having too much to drink, as the night goes on, I find myself thinking that I actually kind of like this guy. He’s attentive in a way that makes him charming. He’s funny in a way that I can’t help but laugh. I try and think of all the shit this crook has probably done and yet I end up thinking how he’s super cool in an old-school kind of way.

Joe and Eddie leave at some point, it was late, I know that much. I abstained from alcohol the whole night but somehow ended up drunk on the guy beside me. I wonder if it’ll suddenly get awkward or if he’ll just turn around and call me out, cause I’m that sure that he sees right through me, but we just continue to talk. It’s like I get a buzz of having his attention on me – and it wasn’t just some attention but it was _all_ of it. And I liked it. I fucking liked it.

Each time he’s getting up to take a leak or go to the bar he ends up sitting closer to me. His touches get more frequent as he talks, leaning in just a tad closer than he has to so that I can practically feel the tremor from his voice. His gaze never lingers from mine for too long. I think that must be his deal. He’s had designs on me all along. Typical crook, always out for what he can get. I wonder if I should rebuff him in some way and then I remember I _know_ I should rebuff him because nowhere in undercover cop 101 do they ever recommend this kind of shit. Yet when it’s closing time, he stands up to let me out first in a way that makes me think he’s going to slip my jacket over my shoulders next and I know that if I were to deter him, even in the slightest, he would back off and it would be okay. I knew that all along.

We left and walked onto the car lot. I remember thinking not about how he shouldn’t have been driving but how relieved I was when he offered me a ride. I thought about how light on my feet I suddenly feel and wondered if I’d had more booze than I should have. I wondered if it was meant to feel this ... natural.

I wondered if Mr White was as attentive in everything he did.

“Your missus be home?” He asked, as we approached the car – the only one left in the lot.

There was a noticeable beat of silence cause I had totally fucking forgot about the damn wedding ring on my finger. My blood turned to ice as I realised I’d slipped up already. But then he suddenly laughed that warm, genuine laugh that echoed.

“You were bullshitting then.”

I ducked my head, hiding behind my bangs to hide my anxiety as embarrassment.

“It’s a good luck charm, alright? Belonged to my Grandparents.”

Really, it was something Holdaway insisted. I don’t know why he did but slipping it on makes me feel more in character. More invincible. Someone actually agreeing to marry Freddy Newandyke – there’s an amusing fucking anecdote.

“Hey.” His hand finds its way to my shoulder again. “Fuck good luck, kid. Good luck is for suckers that don’t know what they’re doing.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Never a truer word said, because I was standing in a car lot mumbling insecurities to a man I knew nothing about. A man who had a word of authority with Joe Cabot – tie that with the fact that I’ve been caught lying about a wedding ring and you have the deal breaker. Game over, Newandyke. For Freddy and Orange – not that it mattered who said it, or who meant it.

“And that’s okay." The squeeze on my shoulder is hard, but the tone of the voice is soft. “Cause you’ve got me to show you the ropes.”

I looked at him, properly then. I expected to find some sort of lecherous grin or twisted look in his eyes. Only it wasn’t there.

This isn’t a euphemism or some sort of trick. This guy is actually offering to help me, or Orange, or the me that’s pretending to be Orange. On the force, there’s a whole bunch of superiors that get new guys assigned to them when they come in. They keep an eye on you cause if the new guy fucks up, it can have huge ramifications – one’s that come back and bite them on the ass. But deep down, as long as nothing major goes down, they don’t really care if you do a good job or not. They don’t care what you do or don’t learn. Holdaway was the only one that did about me and I was smart enough to understand that if a guy is willing to teach you something, then you’d better sit and fucking learn it. And you’d better make them proud. So I guess Orange is like the Freddy of the crook world, and then White is like his Holdaway.

“What do you say to another drink, kid?”

White let go of my shoulder only to tap me on the cheek instead, and he pulls me out from the moment whether he knows it or not.

I say yeah. I don’t even pause. Cause that smile knocks you on your ass faster than a bullet. The eyes finish you off. He's a good-looking guy, for his age and all. 

But it’s alright; I tell myself when I get in his car. Tonight, I’m Mr Orange and Mr Orange can afford to do things Freddy wouldn’t. Mr Orange is allowed to like White, in fact, that benefits Freddy, don’t it? Holdaway and the guys – they always talk about getting in, maintaining good relations with the guys, being their best buddy if you need to. I glance at Mr White and I think that I can handle that. Mr Orange can too.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A Freddy drabble reflecting on the commode story.


End file.
